


harley keener and the terrible, no good, reluctantly chaotic field trip to stark industries

by volantium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Field Trip, Harley Keener's Field Trip to Stark Industries, Identity Reveal, M/M, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, and then i wrote it in a fugue state at work the same day so, but not the one you think, except it's, this idea came to me half-delirious at midnight, this is an actual mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volantium/pseuds/volantium
Summary: When Harley had planned on travelling to New York for his and Peter’s first anniversary, he hadn’t expected it to go like this.But, really, it’s probably—definitely—his own fault for asking literal billionaire Tony Stark for help.Harley can’t even be mad, though, because it’s ingenious, Tony’s idea. He wanted to surprise Peter, but somehow Tony kind of forgot to mention it to Harley too. The only words he’d said ringing in Harley’s earsdon’t stress, kid, of course I’ll handle it, Peter will love itas he sits in his one AP science class (chemistry, because God truly hates him) and listens to Mr McDonald’s senior field trip announcement.To Stark Industries.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 51
Kudos: 1193
Collections: Absolute Faves, Peter Parker, Peter Parker’s Field Trips, peter parker and his field trips





	harley keener and the terrible, no good, reluctantly chaotic field trip to stark industries

When Harley had planned on travelling to New York for his and Peter’s first anniversary, he hadn’t expected it to go like this.

But, really, it’s probably—definitely—his own fault for asking literal billionaire Tony Stark for help.

Harley can’t even be mad, though, because it’s ingenious, Tony’s idea. He wanted to surprise Peter, but somehow Tony kind of forgot to mention it to Harley too. The only words he’d said ringing in Harley’s ears _don’t stress, kid, of course I’ll handle it, Peter will love it_ as he sits in his one AP science class (chemistry, because God truly hates him) and listens to Mr McDonald’s senior field trip announcement.

To Stark Industries. In New York. All expenses paid because apparently, Jefferson District High—the only public high school between four different towns including Rose Hill—won a contest no one even knew they’d entered in. Including accommodation at a five-star hotel for the two nights. 

Harley’s reeling, sitting there in class, clutching the permission forms with hands that don’t really feel like his. Harley’s never said a lick of a word about Tony breaking into his garage six years ago or how they’ve kept in contact since or how, when Tony flew him out for his birthday back a few years ago, he met Peter Parker and his world was never the same. They’ve only been dating for almost a year, long-distance for the most part. Harley’s mom was adamant about him finishing school in Tennessee, for reasons unknown to Harley, but probably because she wants to see her son graduate valedictorian and walk across the same stage she did twenty years ago.

He can’t wait to give Tony shit for this though, the fact that he hadn’t even _told_ Harley what he was thinking. Because, again to reiterate, Harley has never breathed a word about Tony to anyone. The only people who know are Abby (Harley had to explain the loss of her Dora watch somehow) and his mom, who ran around their house like a headless chicken the day Tony left him a vintage fucking Mustang and a garage full of tech so advance Harley’s still figuring it out. But now Harley is going to have to walk around the halls of the Tower and pretend like he doesn’t know it like the back of his hand, or like he doesn’t know most of the interns on the mechanical engineering floor or fuck, even maybe _Peter._

Harley’s not a shit actor. Can’t be, really. Not with having grown up without a father and gay in the Bible Belt, because that’s a certain experience only others who have gone through similar can relate, the way that shapes you as a person, the way you start to present yourself to the world to _protect_ yourself from it. The way that kind of bleeds into your personality anyways and sets down roots you kind of wish you could upheave but don’t really know how. Maybe this isn’t necessarily hypothetical in the strictest sense, ‘cause Harley’s too self-aware for his own good, most days, but the fact remains. Harley’s not a shit actor—but it’s a shit situation to even be acting _in,_ considering he originally had planned on some quiet weekend away with Peter upstate to celebrate the whole twelve months, three-hundred-sixty-five days together thing before he asked Tony (offhandedly, mind you) if he could perhaps borrow the jet instead of flying commercial. And Tony had just _run_ with it, given an inch and taken a mile. It’s not like Harley isn’t grateful, but it’s just—

Harley hasn’t told anyone about Tony—and that’s fine, he’s never been one to brag—but the minute they step foot into the Tower and FRIDAY announces, in that lilting brogue of hers, _Harley James Keener, ALPHA access; welcome back, Harley, would you like me to inform Boss of your arrival?_ it’s going to cause no end of trouble for Harley, right up until he leaves Tennessee all together to move cross-country for university at the end of August.

And that’s not really something Harley thinks he can deal with.

“I need those permission slips back by the end of next week!” Mr McDonald is saying once Harley figures out how to tune back in.

Around him the class is abuzz. Not that Harley can blame them. How often is it that a small-town, four-county high school in the middle of Tennessee gets this kind of opportunity? They don’t, that’s how often. Harley knows Tony’s probably pulled a few too many strings to make this happen. Has probably pestered Pepper enough that Harley feels guilty just thinking about it.

He can hear EJ from the other side of the room—still doesn’t even understand why EJ’s even taking an AP class, still doesn’t even understand how he hasn’t flunked out yet—rattling his fool mouth off to his current girl of the week about how he met Tony Stark a few years ago and this just proves that the man hasn’t forgotten him, and now that he has the chance of going to New York, he’ll be offered an internship on a silver platter to go with the silver spoon up his ass.

Harley snorts to himself. The fucking irony.

* * *

**h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**when were you gonna tell me that you decided a field trip was the best way for me to visit?  
12:04

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**like, you couldn’t have just? flown me up for the weekend and let me borrow a car and pick pete up from school or something?  
12:04

 **don’t answer  
**I literally broke into your garage. Go big or go home, kid.  
12:23

 **don’t answer  
**Besides, this way you can flex the fact that you’ve got a job here lined up after graduation and this is way easier to hide from Peter than flying you up, trust me.  
12:24

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**how?? also no one in tn even knows i know you??  
12:24

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**wait did you just say FLEX  
12:25

 **don’t answer  
**It’s Peter. I can’t hide anything from Peter, you’ve seen those bambi eyes. But I can mention that there’s a rural school from across the country touring the Tower as part of a September Foundation prize that he needs to do a Q&A for in a few weeks without mentioning it’s the same school his boyfriend goes to.  
12:26

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**you realise that just seems more complicated  
12:26

 **don’t answer  
**Flexing is just another word for networking, and networking is basically the only way to make inroads in the STEM industry unless you’re a genius billionaire attached to a production company or a research university.  
12:26

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**i am a genius and i know a billionaire is that close enough?  
12:26

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**jokes aside, did you even consider the fact that me and peter aren’t like,,, out as a couple to most of si/jefferson at all or no  
12:27

 **don’t answer  
**Oh shit.  
12:27

 **don’t answer  
**Harley, I am so sorry.  
12:27

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**it’s fine  
12:30

 **don’t answer  
**No, it’s not. I fucked up, kid. I can cancel the trip, send a jet that weekend instead?  
12:30

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**you can’t cancel the trip, the pr would be ridiculous, and pep would hate it. i’ll figure something out  
12:31

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**and i know it must be costing the company an arm and a leg in expenses, but everyone in my class is so excited about getting to visit nyc and the tour, like it’s huge for jefferson high in the middle of bumfuck tennessee, so, thank you  
12:33

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**just don’t tell peter, please. i still want to surprise him, but i don’t want him distracted from work or school because of it. we can figure it out once i’m there or in the moment or whatever  
12:33

 **don’t answer  
**You got it, kid. I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Can’t wait to tell the story about how I nearly fucked up your first anniversary at your wedding!  
12:34

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**TONY –  
12:35

* * *

Harley’s been out and proud and loud in Rose Hill unlike anyone else, rebelling against the unique brand of godly-ordained homophobia that comes from quaint little country towns in a red state like the ones that make up Jefferson High with a sharp smile, sharper words, and a right-hook like a sledgehammer. Even before he turned eighteen, he’d developed a reputation to not be fucked with, not after he decked EJ in their sophomore year for calling him a fag. Certainly not after he rigged the car of the brother of the kid who was bullying Abby for an entire summer to not start, either, and wouldn’t bother fixing it when the idiot came round asking for Harley’s help because he couldn’t afford to go to Rose Hill’s actual mechanic. Or when that one time his old literature teacher, who’d moved there that year from the big city, got a bit too cocky and Harley had shut her down with barbed enough words that she quit later that week. So, Harley’s out, couldn’t give less of a shit if his classmates find out that Peter’s his boyfriend, because he knows none of them would do anything about it.

But he’d never take that choice away from Peter.

He’s honestly surprised that Tony hadn’t even thought of it, if not vaguely disappointed. But that’s more just Harley being disappointed in the fact that he even has to consider the possibility of their relationship becoming public knowledge rather than any disappointment in Tony himself, because _fuck_ heteronormativity to hell and back.

The thing is, Harley knows Peter’s _it_ for him. That they’re a forever kind of thing. A package deal. Intertwined so tightly their atoms have probably merged together. It only took two days into knowing each other before Harley’s walls were crashing down, and Peter was jumping over them like a mad man. All because it was nearly Christmas and December is Peter’s worse month, so Harley found out, and yet this personification of sunshine was pulling him around New York at Tony’s insistence that Harley _experience the city like a native_ , and making Harley laugh in a way that no one else ever had. So when Harley had been triggered and Peter had pulled him out of his panic attack so adeptly it kind of made sense just to spill his guts to Peter then and there.

(Peter, in turn, had done the same only a week later, falling through the window of Harley’s room, still in his suit but too keyed-up to realise he’d swung right into the wrong section of Tower. Cue Harley only mildly flipping the fuck out—he’d had experience with superheroes breaking into his shit, after all—and had listened as Peter spiralled about December being fucking awful and painful to watch from the outside-in, more so after patrol, because _fuck_ if it didn’t hurt, watching other people with their loved ones.

Harley gets it. He watched his father leave and never come back. 

That night they’d ended up tangled together in between Harley’s bedsheets. Peter’s curls tucked perfectly under Harley’s chin, ankles and knees slotted together like puzzle pieces. Perhaps that was where it all started. It’d been the first night Harley had slept without nightmares since leaving Tennessee. It’d been the first night Peter had actually slept through after patrol. It’d felt like they’d known each other their entire lives, not merely a handful of days.

Harley’ll kind of always regret the way they didn’t say anything about that night for an entire year, after Harley had gone back to Tennessee and they’d finished their sophomore year separated as only best friends and not something more.)

One soul, two bodies. Like how the Greeks used to say. That kind of deal. That kind of love.

So, considering all of that, when they Facetime the weekend before Harley’s set to leave for New York, he doesn’t say a word to his boyfriend.

He feels guilty, in a roundabout way, like any sane person on this earth would, because keeping things from— _lying to,_ the traitorous part of his brain whispers—Peter Benjamin Parker is akin to the most heinous of sins.

“How’re things at SI?” Harley asks, guilt a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Busy,” Peter heaves a sigh, one that Harley can read well enough into that tell him Peter’s probably more stressed than he’s letting on. “Production started on those design I showed you a few weeks ago, but there’s still kinks to work out, and for some reason I keep getting dragged into those meetings more than anyone else on the biomed team.”

“Probably because they’re your designs, sweetheart.”

“I’m just an intern.”

Harley shoots him a look. “You’re much more than that, Peter, and you know it. And I don’t just mean being Spider-Man. I mean that you’re smart and capable and you’ve earned your internship twice over. The fact that your designs are in _production_ is proof enough of that.”

“Why are you making sense at one in the morning,” Peter says, but even through the screen, Harley can see him relax a bit, shoulders loosening. “You shouldn’t be allowed to.”

“One of us has to.” Harley grins wirily.

Harley fills Peter in on Abby’s most recent school play, tells him about his paper on Macbeth he has due the day after next, about how he can’t find one of his favourite wrenches that he needs to work on his car. Doesn’t say a single word about the fact that Jefferson High’s AP Chemistry class is leaving that Thursday to fly out to New York, nor how they’re touring the Tower on Friday, or flying back to Tennessee on the Saturday.

It makes Harley feel worse than he already does, when it’s edging closer to two-thirty and Peter’s dozing in and out of their conversation, the both of them already curled up in bed, separated by nine hundred miles and Rose Hill’s dodgy reception, and Peter, in a moment of clarity, murmurs quietly, “I miss you, baby.”

“Not long now,” Harley says, referring to the fact that there’s only a few weeks left until they both graduate, their ceremonies miraculously enough days apart that they’ll be able to attend Harley’s first before making the trip back to New York for Peter’s. “I miss you, too. I always do.”

Harley doesn’t miss the way Peter’s hand falls from where it’s curled underneath his chin towards the phone, a finger tapping at the edge of the screen, like Peter’s tapping at Harley’s collarbone where it peeks out between overgrown blonde hair and the stretched collar of his tee. 

“What’s going through that mind of yours?”

“It’s just,” Peter’s eye cut away from him, looking to the side, a nervous tick Harley’s well acquainted with. “I really thought we’d be able to celebrate being together for a year in person, you know?”

Guilt floods Harley’s lungs so hot and thick he forgets how to breath for a second. He completely forgot about it too, lost in Peter as he always is, but the point of this entire shindig is to _surprise_ him, so Harley pushes the guilt so far down until it sinks like a led weight in his stomach. Not that it makes him feel much better.

Harley rubs a knuckle into his eye, fingers smudging against his glasses, muffling a fake yawn to buy himself enough time to get his brain in working order. “I know, darlin’, I wish I didn’t have that fucking project due for algebra, either. I’m sorry, Pete.”

It’s the excuse— _lie_ , that traitorous part whispers again—he and Tony had cooked up, an assignment worth half his overall algebra grade due the week _after_ their anniversary that was serious enough that neither his mom nor Tony would agree to him flying out to New York for the weekend before, no matter the reason. It’s something they’d do, too, which is what makes it even more believable, coupled with the fact that Harley actually does have a project due for algebra, but it’s not due until the week before finals.

“S’not your fault, baby,” Peter says, and Harley can’t help but wince at how defeated his boyfriend sounds, knowing what he knows. “It just sucks.”

“I love you,” he offers, even as his heart splits in two at Peter’s soft, sad sigh. “You should sleep, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” Peter replies. “Night, Harl.”

Harley clicks end-call, and the screen goes black.

* * *

The flight is absolute hell.

Harley’s somehow managed to get himself stuck in the middle seat, which is arguably the worst on any plane, but stuck between his teacher and EJ like he is? Definitely a totally new circle of hell altogether. 

It started when Harley, on his third cup of coffee but still half-asleep at six in the morning, had tripped his way up stairs of the rickety (and definitely not road safe) bus and almost spilled the aforementioned coffee all over himself. With the corner of his sleeve saturated, he still can't figure out why they’re leaving so early. Probably something to do with the three-hour drive to their closest airport, if Harley manages to think about it long enough past the fog of being awake at such an ungodly hour. The flight isn’t actually until the afternoon. They won’t land in New York until closer to five, which means by the time they get to the hotel at six, Harley’s only going to have time for dinner before passing out.

Then the flight gets delayed. 

By the time they board it's like four in the evening. The four hours can’t go any faster. Like, literally cannot go any faster. It’s like watching paint dry, expect Harley’s hell is set to the tune of _Sugar_ by Brockhampton to avoid having to talk to Mr McDonald and mindlessly playing Animal Crossing on his Switch, trying not to bash EJ across the head with it each time he forces himself out of his window seat and across Harley every twenty minutes.

Thanks to the delay they end up not getting to the hotel until nine that night, and they’re that late that even Mr McDonald, usually a stickler for rules and regulations, cannot be fucked in getting them through check-in orderly enough, and barely even notices when half of the senior class don’t room with the same-sex like they’re supposed to.  
  
Harley gets his own room, uneven numbers for once working in his favour. Hates that it’s not his actual room in the Tower, which is on the penthouse floor, because he could really go for one of Pepper’s famous hot coco’s right now and he’s pretty sure he left his torque wrench there last time. Plus, he’d have his own fucking pillow, too.

He goes to sleep resolutely not thinking about how tomorrow will be worse.

* * *

**h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**hey old man just lettin you know we finally landed n r at the hotel gonna pass out now but thnx again see you tmrw  
21:20

 **don’t answer  
**How asleep are you that you’re typing like that? Damn, kid.  
21:21

 **don’t answer  
**Sorry about the delay again, hope the flight wasn’t too awful. See you tomorrow, Harl.  
21:21

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**wtvr u r planning fck off at least leave peter out of it  
21:22

 **don’t answer  
**That sounds like you’re giving me permission.  
21:22

 **don’t answer  
**But yeah, I’ll leave Peter out of it.  
21:30

 **h(uge pain in the ass)arley  
**that’s all i ask  
21:30

**sunshine  
**hey, you okay? been oddly quiet today  
22:43

 **cowboy  
**long day. everything’s alright, just exhausted  
22:45

 **sunshine  
**i didn’t wake you up did i?  
22:45

 **cowboy  
**maybe  
22:45

 **cowboy  
**but it’s you, s’okay  
22:45

 **sunshine**  
noooo sorry baby go back to bed!!  
22:45

 **sunshine  
**chat tomorrow?  
22:45

 **cowboy  
**of course, darlin  
22:46

**cowboy  
**love you  
22:46

 **sunshine  
**love you too harl  
22:46

* * *

When Harley wakes up it’s with that split-second unawareness of disorientation. Vertigo, almost, as he realises he’s actually in New York and not curled up on his single bed back in the farmhouse. It takes him even longer to realise that he should’ve been awake at least half an hour ago, because now he’s not going to have time between now and the bus ride to the Tower to have any breakfast, and a Harley without coffee is a Harley no one really wants to encounter.

He makes it onto the bus, barely. Has to slump into the first available seat he sees just as the driver takes off, which causes Harley to lose his balance and basically fall into the window. He can feel a headache simmering behind his eyelids already. He spends the drive looking out at the city.

He’s always in awe of it. Every single time. 

One of his fondest memories is that trip last year for his seventeenth birthday, when he and Peter had realised that maybe this thing swirling between wasn’t so one-sided. They'd been texting nearly daily in between that year Harley was stuck in Rose Hill and Peter in Queens, so it wasn’t like Harley hadn’t noticed the flirting but there’s only so much one can interpret over a phone screen, especially when you’ve only known that person for a week in reality. But somehow, when Harley had returned, it was like nothing had changed, their easy banter translating better in person than Harley ever imagined, and when Peter had suggested that walk through Central Park, it’d been the beginning of the end, end of the beginning all rolled into one. 

Of course, they’d somehow ended up in the middle of a mugging, right as the sun set, which meant that Spider-Man had made an appearance that resulted in one saved mamaw and Peter, selfless and so brave, reappearing once the commotion had died down to tug Harley behind a tree, apologies already falling from his lips. Harley—who can’t really remember it between the rush of adrenaline and all-compassing shock of watching his best friend take down two assholes—had wrapped his fingers around Peter’s wrist, fingertips to his pulse-point, pulled him forwards, and before he could think about it, had ducked his head down to kiss Peter right on the mouth.

As the city flicks past in strobe lights and neon signs, massively high skyscrapers and tourists everywhere, thinking about that day, Harley can’t imagine being anywhere else. Maybe it’s because New York has Peter in it, and Peter is home more than Rose Hill has ever been. 

The Tower never fails to catch Harley’s breath; it’s sheer magnitude, the way it rises above Manhattan like a quiet sentinel, the glowing logo at the top of the tower a signal flare for the lost and wayward like Harley. Their bus slows to a stop a block away in a no-loading zone, hazards flashing as the students fall out and into the busy New York street.

There’s a collective gasp when they walk through the doors of Stark Industries. Harley gets it—of course he does, he did the same thing the first time. The lobby is all sleek black tiles and glass panels and there’s the massive sign on the wall behind reception, security and the elevators to one side, a small café to the other, and there’s tech absolutely _everywhere_. If Harley had never been here before he’d be overwhelmed. Even EJ seems struck speechless, which is rare enough in itself that Harley takes a moment to revel in it.

They mill about as Mr McDonald checks in. Harley thinks he does a good enough job pretending like it’s his first time stepping foot in the building and not his umpteenth. Mr McDonald returns, this time accompanied with one of the media interns Harley actually knows decently well. Her name’s Sarah. She’s one of the few people in the company to actually know that Harley and Peter are dating, on account of the fact that she’s related to one of Pepper’s good friends, and had come over for dinner one night without any of them realising that the cousin Pepper’s friend was bringing also happened to work for the company.

Harley fishes his phone out.

 **Harley Keener  
**Hey Sarah, don’t know if Pepper mentioned, but I’m technically not here? Peter doesn’t know I’m visiting, and I want to keep it a surprise.  
9:55

 **Sarah Gallows  
**Oh my god, he’s going to flip.  
9:56

 **Sarah Gallows  
**My lips are sealed!  
9:56

Harley breathes a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t have to worry about Sarah. Now he just has to figure out what Tony’s concocted out of thin air.

It’s unsurprising that the first thing is the security badges. Harley already has his, clipped to the pocket of his jeans. His, obviously, is much higher access that the ones currently being handed out by Sarah to the rest of his class. Those ones are plain white, _visitor_ in large block letters down one side and the magnetic strip on the other. Harley’s, on the other hand, is a proper ID badge. The front side has his name above a stereotypically bad photo from when he first got it at sixteen, underneath which reads the main two departments he works with whenever he’s here and what’s technically his employee number, the reverse side with _ALPHA_ written sideways in red across the entire thing.

“Alright, Jefferson,” Sarah says, gesturing for them to quiet down. “We’ll go through security and then we’ll be heading up to the Avenger’s museum, break for lunch, and then spend the afternoon touring a few of the intern labs, and let you guys get a feel of what we do here at Stark Industries, how does that sound?”

It’s so cheesy, the way half his of class hoots and hollers.

Harley stays at the back of the group, not keen on drawing any unnecessary attention to himself. Sarah corrals the students at the first into a half-decent line.

“I’ll go through first and show you how it’s done,” she says, pulling on the lanyard in her pocket. “Now, the building’s artificial intelligence, FRIDAY, will talk, but don’t let her startle you, she’s usually harmless.”

Harley doesn’t bother hiding his snort, much to the confused looks of those standing closest to him.

Sarah swipes her badge of the card reader. “Sarah Ronin Gallows, _DELTA_ access, Jefferson District High School tour guide. Let me know if you need any assistance, Sarah.”

“Will do, FRI, thank you!” Sarah turns around from the other side of security, gestures EJ through from where he’s first in line, who walks through with an over exaggerated swagger that has Harley cringing behind his glasses.

From then on it’s a repetitive _visitor,_ OMEGA _access; welcome to Stark Industries,_ until it’s Harley’s turn.

Harley takes a breath to steel himself and walks through.

“Harley James Keener, _ALPHA_ access. Welcome home, Harley. Boss will be pleased to know you’re back; would you like me to tell him?”

Harley breaths out sharply through his nose, eyes rolling skywards as whispers break out around him. That’s definitely not what she usually says. _Welcome home?_ That’s a new one that just screams Tony Stark and his meddling fingers.

“I’m sure he’s told you to tell him anyway, FRIDAY.” 

“You would be correct, Harley.”

Great. Just great.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of EJ’s friends pipes up, voice sweet in that sickly-sweet Southern kind of way that has gooseflesh travelling up Harley’s spine. “What are the different access levels and why does Keener have one?”

“The security cards follow the Greek alphabet. _Omega_ is the lowest level, reserved for visitors and the press, followed by _Delta_ , which covers interns and clerical staff. _Gamma_ is for the majority of employees, from legal to medical to engineering. _Beta_ badges are for department managers and senior scientists. The highest level is _Alpha,_ which is an all-access card that can only be distributed by either the head of security or the owners of Stark Industries themselves. Any questions?”

“That seems complicated when you consider all the different teams,” says Mr McDonald, and Harley’s never been more grateful that he has one adult in his life who isn’t set on seeing him burn.

“All of the different cards are split into sublevels according to their specific departments, so it’s not that hard to keep track of in practice.”

Sarah looks at him, catching his eye. “As for Harley, I believe I’ll let him fill you in on that.”

“I’ve been here before,” Harley says, gruffly, not really willing to spill the beans just yet. “There’s not much else to it.”

Except EJ’s side-eyeing him. Even though EJ’s a piece of shit, Harley has to admit he’s resourceful and will probably figure out his connection to Stark Industries faster than anyone else currently in the room.

He knows it’s a shit explanation, considering that Sarah just said explicitly that ALPHA badges are access-all-areas, and like, why the fuck would Harley have one, except apparently his reputation for kicking ass and taking names must still be strong, because no one presses him on it.

Harley considers it a miracle.

They make their way through the Avengers museum, which Harley’s already been through twice; once with Peter, to specifically tease him about the Spider-Man display, and once with Tony, who all but chewed his ear off when he jokingly plopped down in front of the Captain America exhibit and said _now that’s my favourite superhero._ Not like this though. It’s actually pretty cool when you have someone showing you around the place, who’s dropping fun facts that Harley doesn’t know about the various Avengers.

EJ only manages to break something _once,_ but it also happens to be one of Clint’s old arrows which, for reasons Harley doesn’t want to know, is still armed. When EJ trips into it, it smashes on the floor into tiny ceramic shards, simultaneously releasing a dense smog that has FRIDAY’s alarm sounding off.

Sarah looks back at him. “Harley, do you mind shutting it off? I don’t have the clearance.”

Harley doesn’t have enough time to think about how weird that is, because the smog is spreading across the floor like dry ice and Harley doesn’t know what Clint has tipped into his arrowheads to care enough about figuring Sarah’s lack of clearance out and less about the potentially poisonous gas filling the room.

“FRIDAY,” he says, voice going sharp in a way that has everyone straightening. “Enact the _suspicious substance_ protocol and turn off the alarm, _ALPHA_ code H-J-K-12-3.”

“Of course, Harley.”

The alarm fades out, and the fans in the vents whir as the power up at his command.

“Thanks, Harley,” Sarah says, despite the way everyone else is staring at him wide-eyed. “Really appreciate it.”

Someone to the side mutters under their breath. Harley’s resting bitch face turns even harsher as it lands on the kid, and that’s enough to shut everyone else up for the time being.

They end with the Iron Legion display, and when Sarah makes an odd comment about Mark 42, Harley squints at her cheeky grin with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 **Harley Keener  
**I’m a fool. Tony roped you into it, didn’t he?  
11:34

 **Sarah Gallows  
**The genius finally turns up to the party ;)  
11:34

 **Harley Keener  
**Lord above.  
11:34

 **Harley Keener  
**At least tell me it’s nothing too dramatic.  
11:35

 **Sarah Gallows  
**Harley, you sweet summer child. Of course it’s too dramatic, he’s Tony Stark.  
11:35

 **Harley Keener  
**Fuck.  
11:36

They break for lunch after that. The sinking feeling Harley gets settles into the low hum of nervous anxiety at the back of his head, overriding the devil-may-care attitude he had going into this.

Harley disappears. Not one to look the access-all-areas gift horse in the mouth, and more than willing to take advantage of it, heads up to the staff cafeteria to grab lunch while Sarah leads the rest of them back down to the lobby and the public café.

Except as he’s in line to get Taco Bell, he spies a familiar head of curly chestnut hair that has his heart speeding up into overdrive and him flying around the corner so fast to avoid Peter that he crashes into the wall with a dull smack.

The simmering headache of his _blooms_ across the bridge of his nose.

Once Harley manages to dodge his way back across the cafeteria without running into Peter, he takes the elevator down to the lobby to meet up with the rest of his class.

Halfway through his ham and cheese croissant, Harley realises that Tony’s still yet to show up. He really thought something would’ve happened by now, and that’s the thing that puts him more on edge than anything else.

* * *

Sarah leads them into the biomedical engineering lab, unsubtle wink thrown over her shoulder at Harley, and really, it’s not like he can’t put two and two together—Peter’s here, for that question and answer thing Tony mentioned way back when.

“Welcome to our biomed lab,” Sarah says. “This is where all the magic happens. One of the interns will be along shortly to give you a small presentation on the September Foundation, but in the meantime let me introduce you to the department lead.”

Harley zones out for the next ten minutes, already well acquainted with everything this floor does, and barely tunes back in to catch Sarah’s next words.  
  
“And this,” Sarah gestures to a figure he intimately knows, like the palm of hand, the back of his head, could pick out a crowd blind, his breath catching as it always does. “This is Mr Stark’s personal intern, Peter Parker.”

“Hi, everyone, welcome to Stark Industries,” Peter says, entirely unaware of the fact that Harley’s breath has all by stopped in his lungs because hearing Peter’s voice in person is so, _so_ much nicer than through his shitty laptop speakers, sounds so much like a homing beacon Harley has to physically restrain himself from taking a step forward in his direction.

Sarah turns to face the class. “Peter’s been asked to field some questions from you guys about his internship and stuff, so, if you want to ask anything, raise your hand.”

Instantly, there’s like ten different hands in the air in front of Harley’s face. It starts very basic, if Harley’s willing to admit, kind of cringe worthy in the way people are fawning over themselves to ask the most basic of information – they have _Peter_ at their disposal, why aren’t they asking about the difference between blackholes and wormholes or something?

How old are you? _Eighteen._ When did you start? _Two years ago, thanks to the September Foundation, that’s the same one sponsoring your trip, right?_

What do you do? _I’m technically a biomedical engineering intern, but I work closely with Mr Stark on a number of his personal projects._

Do you really work with Tony Stark? _Yes, and forgive me for saying this but I get asked so often, I really don’t know how to prove it short of getting Tony don’t here myself, so you’ll just have to believe me._

Then Peter decides to ask, “What school are you guys, again? I don’t think Sarah said.”

“We’re from Tennessee,” EJ says, and Harley’s never been more glad that he’s never shown Peter a picture of him, because that would ruin everything about the entire trip then and there, and thank _Christ_ that EJ hadn’t said Jefferson like any normal person would’ve when asked about their school, because then Peter would well and truly connect the dots.

“Oh!” Peter perks up. “My other half lives in Tennessee, I’ve been there a couple of times.”

The way Peter calls him _my other half_ has Harley swooning. Just a little bit. A bunch of giggles break out to the side, surely because what eighteen old refers to their girlfriend like that—how little they know—and even from here Harley can see the way in which some of the girls deflate. He rarely gets to hear Peter talk about him, unaware of his presence, knows that in this crowded room Peter’s senses wouldn’t be able to pinpoint his heartbeat unless Peter was actively looking for it. It makes something warm and fuzzy quash that nervous energy floating at the base of his spine, something that seeps into his bones, like each particle that makes up Peter’s soul has sought his out in that intangible space between light and touch and said, _oh, there you are._

“How long have you been together?” One of them asks.

The look that crosses Peter’s face is so soft that Harley nearly gives up then and there. “It’ll be our one-year anniversary tomorrow, actually.”

“What’s her name?”

“ _His_ name is—” Peter starts to say except it’s drowned out by Mr McDonalds loud exclamation of, “We didn’t come here to talk about romance, kids, get back to the science questions. Can you tell us a bit more about the application process, Mr Parker?”

Peter flushes brightly under the florescent lights, launching into a clearly rehearsed spiel about the September Foundation and the official, public version of how he got his internship at sixteen, and the not the real version that includes a radioactive spider bite and super powers. 

It’s only because Harley’s eyes haven’t left Peter’s face that he catches the moment Peter sees him, cutting himself from talking about which form to fill out, those brown eyes going wide, face slack in shock.

Harley’s pretty sure he’s doing an awful job at controlling the grin that’s spreading across his face. Peter’s always managed to crack his no-emotions bullshit.

“Harley,” Peter says, voice strangled, surprised, when he spies Harley at the back of the group.

“Hey, Peter,” Harley replies, even though he’s itching to push himself forward and fling his arms around Peter’s neck, he’s not going to take that choice away from Peter, because if Peter doesn’t want the Jefferson High graduating class to know about them, then they won’t.

Except Peter’s getting up and the crowd in front of Harley splits like the Red Sea as Peter walks towards him, the last few steps a run. Throws his own arms around Harley’s neck, Harley’s hands instantly settling around the curve of Peter’s ribs, his waist, moving to rest in the dip of his spine. Easy, instinctively, stars colliding. 

“Harley,” Peter repeats, his name like a sucker punch in the dead silence of his class staring at the both of them clutching each other. “Oh my god, baby.”

That answers Harley’s question, he guesses, even as Peter draws back, a hand sliding around Harley’s neck to cup his jaw, fingers tangling into blonde hair, tugging Harley’s head down and into a kiss.

Harley fists a hand into Peter’s shirt at the small of his back, pulling him closer, crinkling the cotton fabric something awful, the room erupting in noise. It doesn’t even register to Harley once Peter’s mouth is on his. It’s been _months_ since they’ve seen each other and the way Peter nips as his bottom lip just enough to draw a too-heated moan from the back of Harley’s throat feels like _home._

Harley wouldn’t trade that for anything.

They probably make a right sight, too. The way Peter is obviously important to the company despite his age and dressed in slate grey slacks and that maroon button-up that tells Harley he’s been in production meetings all day, compared to Harley’s ripped jeans and faded green hoodie that’s actually Peter’s by the way it falls just short of his wrist, a perfect juxtaposition of one another, so wrong and yet so obviously right.

They’re eighteen and they’re young and they’re in love. Can you really blame him?

Harley presses his forehead to Peter’s, doesn’t open his eyes just yet. Content to just exist here, breathing the same air, pressed against each other so much so that Harley doesn’t know where he ends and Peter begins—but it’s always been that way with them, even before they got together.

Opening his eyes means letting the thirty other students in the room into his relationship, because he’d be a fool to think that they won’t have questions, but that doesn’t matter right now, not really, not when Peter’s in his arms again after months of dodgy video calls and text messages at three in the morning when neither of them can sleep.

All he can see are Peter’s eyes. He could wax poetic about them. _Will_ wax poetic about them. Honey-gold, like melted cinnamon sugar. There are flecks of icy blue around the iris like a starburst, bleeding into rich brown. When the sun hits them it’s like the red-yellow-blue break of dawn. Harley nudges his nose against Peter’s. Peter presses a soft kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth in unasked question before he’s stepping back, hand dropping to twine his fingers between Harley’s.

“Finally!” Sarah laughs, the first person to break the suddenly tensioned silence. “Peter you have no idea how hard it was for me to not say anything about Harley.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” Harley says.

“Wait, wait, wait—what the fuck?”

It’s EJ who speaks, because of course it is, and Harley’s already rolling his eyes, mouth opening to reply with _shut the fuck up Elijah,_ except before he can Peter speaks.

“Harley is my other half who lives in Tennessee, if that wasn’t blatantly obvious,” and god does Harley love Peter like this, so full of confidence and _his._ “And may I remind you that both Stark Industries _and_ the September Foundation won’t tolerant any kind of discrimination.”

“Couldn’t have said it any better myself, Pete,” comes a voice from behind them, and of course, that’s what Tony was planning.

When he turns around, it’s to see both Tony and Pepper there.

“Mr Stark,” Sarah says, with an uptick of a smirk catching her mouth. “What a surprise seeing you here.”

“Ms Gallows, always a pleasure,” Tony replies, his voice lilting in that conspiratorial kind of way.

Tony walks over to him with a mischievous glint in his eye that has Harley shaking his head at.

“Whatever you’re planning, old man—”

He can’t even finish his threat because Tony’s arm is somehow around his neck in a headlock, knuckles digging into his skull. He can hear Pepper’s quiet laugh. The huff of a chuckle that leaves Peter’s lungs. The shocked sounds coming for his class distantly register. 

“It’s been too long, kid,” Tony says, releasing Harley from his death grip.

“Hello, Anthony,” Harley says, deadpan, hands attempting to sort out his hair. “It hasn’t been long enough, unfortunately.”

Tony clutches a hand to his chest. “ _This_ is the thanks I get? After everything I’ve done for you? _Harley, I’m_ _wounded_.”

Peter snorts beside him. “You’ll get over it.”

“Don’t you start, Peter,” Tony says, but shaking a finger in Harley’s direction. “You’re a bad influence on him.”

Harley opens his mouth to retort, Peter absolutely losing it, but before he can get a single word out Pepper’s cutting him off.

“Boys,” she says, in that way of hers when they’re causing trouble. “Don’t forget your guests.”

Harley rather would, actually.

It’s Tony who swings around, gazing out at his class with a calculating look in his eye that Harley isn’t sure if he should be scared of. “Jefferson High, right?”

Someone mumbles confirmation.

“How are you enjoying the Tower? Has Harley been sharing all his exciting tales about Stark Industries?” Tony asks.

“He’s been awfully quiet, sir,” Sarah contributes, and Harley decides they’re no longer friends. “Maybe you’d be able to convince him?”

“Absolutely not,” Harley cuts in.

“How do you even know him?” One of EJ’s cronies asks the question on everyone’s mind, and Harley does nothing to muffle the laugh he gives when he finally sees EJ’s face, blank in shock, finally putting the dots together.

Harley doesn’t know if it’s him or Tony who’s getting asked, but it’s Tony who answers.

“Keener and I go way back, kid shot a potato gun at me. I’ve known him since he was like—” Tony stops, turning to him. “How old were you, Harl?”

Of course, he had to mention the potato gun. Of course, he has to drop the nickname that he only ever lets him, Peter, Abby and his mom use, right in front of his class. Harley’s never felt more mortified in his life. “I was twelve.”  
  
“Twelve!” Tony exclaims. “He’s been a pain in my ass ever since.”

Of all people, it’s Mr McDonald who asks the one question Harley hoped to god no one would. “What’s Harley to you? To Stark Industries?”

“Harley and Peter both will have positions with the company upon their graduation.” It’s Pepper who answers, and if Harley wasn’t already aware, he’d feel like the carpet had been pulled out from under him. “Peter will one day take over the biomedical engineering department, and Harley will most likely end up in either the research and development executive team or the mechanical engineering department.”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Harley can’t even remember the last time anyone in his class shut up for this long. Guess it’s fitting that it’s because of him, really, because if anyone out of Rose Hill _or_ Jefferson was going to be the one to make them all speechless, it was definitely Harley and the particular brand of chaos that follows in his wake named Anthony Edward Stark.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Peter open his mouth. Harley clenches his hand, grinding Peter’s bones together enough that his mouth closes with an audible click. Peter turns to him, an eyebrow raised in question. Harley shakes his head, a short, sharp motion that has is glasses slipping down the bridge of his noise. Whatever look is on Harley’s face—he’s sure it’s something half-embarrassed—is blatant enough that Peter just rubs his thumb over Harley's knuckles in silent empathy. 

They've spoken about this at length, the two of them together. Then with Tony, and finally all four of them with Pepper to get her approval as CEO. Peter and him are on the exact same page. Have been the entire time. They would prefer to work their way up the ranks of Stark Industries than just be handed senior positions on a silver platter. They're starting off small, both interns in their respective departments. Peter's already settled well enough into biomed, and Harley is still tossing up between R&D and the mechanical engineering team just because he hasn't really figured out which would suit him better. Their internship'll follow them throughout college, Harley at MIT for mechanical engineering and Peter at NYU for biochemistry; whatever happens after that is determined by how hard they work. But when Tony had taken him aside, without Peter or Pepper, and had said that if anything was to happen to him, it was Harley's name in the will as his heir, Harley had choked a sob into Tony's shoulder and hadn't been able to get the words out, how much that had meant to him. 

Looking at Tony now, Harley thinks he understands everything Harley's never been able to say. How grateful he is for Tony, how much _fuller_ his life is for knowing him. How much he looks up to Tony, despite their constant shit-talking and rubbernecking and general air of comedic hatred they present to the rest of the world. How much he looks at Tony and thinks, _thank you God for giving me a father who loves me enough to not leave._

“I’m only going to say this once,” Tony speaks up, voice oddly serious in a way that has both Harley and Peter and every other person in the room paying attention. “Harley is like a son to me. He’s probably smarter than I am. Nothing would make me prouder than watching my company flourish under his leadership one day.”

“Oh, god, you’re making me feel emotions,” Harley mutters under his breath before raising his voice. “I think they get it, Tony.”

“Just be glad I didn’t get Clint or Nat involved, kid.”

Harley doesn’t even want to think about what a train wreck that would have been.

All of his classmates are looking at him in awe, gossiping amongst themselves, and Harley kind of hates it, but this ended up going better than he expected. He fully was prepared for Tony to pull out all the bells and whistles. Press conference, some kind of experiment demonstration, hell, he wouldn’t put it past Tony just to emerge in full Iron Man armour and some sign declaring Harley’s status as his unofficial-official kid and heir. Even Sarah's involvement was less than what he thought it would be, once he figured out she was in on it. 

Between Pepper and Sarah, the class of Jefferson High is reeled back into order.The rest of the class files out of the room after that, right up until it’s only Mr McDonald left.

“Come on, Keener,” he says, frowning when Harley doesn’t move.

“We’ve already cleared it with the school, teach, but Harley’ll be staying here for the weekend,” Tony says, winking at Harley.

Beside him, Peter tenses.

“Surprise, darlin’,” Harley murmurs, leaning forward to brush a kiss across Peter’s cheekbone. “Happy one-year.”

Harley’s not expecting Peter to whack him across the chest. “Oh my god _,_ Harley, _you’re_ what Tony’s been hiding this entire time!”

Harley _cackles._

* * *

Harley grabs Peter’s hand and tugs him into an elevator the moment Tony and Pepper leave.

“Penthouse, please, FRI,” Harley says, taking a moment to lean against the glass wall, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. The glass is a cool comfort against his skin, soothes the headache that’s been brewing behind his eyelids since he woke up this morning, made worse when he ran into that wall, all but erupted whenever Tony was so much as mentioned.

What a fucking _day._

He can feel Peter’s eyes on him. “What’re you thinking so loud for?

“You’re here.”

Harley smiles softly at that, cracks an eye open when he feels Peter settle flush beside him. “Hiya, sweetheart.”

“Hey, baby,” Peter replies, head tipping against Harley’s shoulder. “So, that algebra assignment?”

Harley groans. “I promise, it’s a real thing, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“That’s one word for it,” Peter laughs softly, the sound a blessing to Harley’s ears because it means Peter’s not mad at him. “So, tomorrow?”

Harley can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Peter’s curls. “Is our one-year anniversary, the best year of my life, and we are going upstate, and definitely not dealing with chaotic genius billionaires whose sole purpose in life is to make mine a living hell.”

“How did Tony even get involved?”

“I may have asked him for help,” Harley ignores the way Peter badly muffles his laugh. “In my defence, I only asked if he could fly me up here, not to you know, plan a whole fucking field trip for Jefferson like some kind of overbearing and stupidly rich uncle.”

“You didn’t know?”

Harley glares down at Peter. “In what world does Tony ever tell me any plans?”

“Baby,” Peter winds his arms around Harley’s neck, tipping his head back to look Harley in the eye. “You are such an idiot.”  
  
“My boyfriend happens to be a _very_ important employee at Stark Industries, I’ll have you know,” Harley’s already laughing. “I’d be careful what you say to me.”  
  
“Oh no, not the big bad Stark Industries,” Peter goes along with the joke, voice going so sarcastic Harley falls in love just a little bit more.

“Wait until they found out he’s also Spider-Man,” Harley says, leaning in closer to Peter. “That’ll be a riot.”

Peter snorts, but there’s a wide smile across his face as he tugs Harley closer and into a kiss, laughing against his lips. And if Peter murmurs _my idiot_ into the skin of Harley’s jaw, well, that’s between them and no one else.

**Author's Note:**

> real talk i have no idea how this even ended up at nearly 9k. find me on tumblr[ @volantium](https://volantium.tumblr.com)


End file.
